


Neither light nor darkness

by mangacrack



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age & Beyond, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maeglin deserves better, References to Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very few were willing to defend a traitor like Maeglin. Fortunately Maedhros cares little about what other people say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither light nor darkness

**Author's Note:**

> At first this was just a hurt/comfort story, but when I was finished with the first draft I looked at it and a voice told me It will be better with Slash. So here I am. Only warnings are allusions past Fingon/Maedhros and rare pair being so rare I get no hits on google.

“Get lost,” Maedhros powerful voice thunders over his property. “Tell whoever you played the messenger for that I will _not_ change my mind. I shall not surrender people under my protection.”

Fingon's theeth rattle in his skull, when Maedhros fury hits him. He is reminded of the dark days in front of Anband during the siege. Sometimes Maedhros voice was the only thing that would cut through the black fumes. The only reliable constant in a mad world gone wrong. In truth it's just a fraction of the voice he used back than but for the peaceful Valinor the presence of Maedhros crumbled stone to dust. 

“Be also aware that anyone who comes with intention of removing Lómion by force will be treated accordingly,” says Maedhros with a warning look in Fingon's direction and retreats back into his house. 

The door is slammed back into place and Fingon sighes. He already suspected that the final sentence on this particular touchy subject had been spoken a long time ago, but for some people apparently Maedhros would have to do all but throw a dagger at the pigheaded Lords of Tirion to get his point accross. 

“So much for that,” Fingon mumbles and walkes back to his horse. 

He has more than two weeks to ride and he hopes some people will finally shut if they see that even their famous friendship will not make Maedhros budge at least an inch. At the beginning he was torn on the matter, now he is just tired. He would tell his father as such and hopes the matter will be put to rest. He would also drop the hint that Maedhros will most likely vanish into the wide lands the F ë anorians are now residing in if they spooked him again. 

“Unlike before he has now the luxery to leave,” Fingon muses on. “He is not Lord of Himring anymore and assumed no responsibilities when he returned to life.” 

Even if many, many elves were still loyal to Maedhros. There were more citizens who identified themselves as F ë anorians than Highking Arafinwe probably liked. But the unexpected release of the House of F ë anor from the Halls had spiked confidence in those who had feared scorn or faced ostracism before. 

With Lord Elronds arrival many voices had been silenced on that particular matter. Too afraid to outright challenge the Peredhel's upbringing again (as it had been many times before in Ennor) the simmering agitation between both camps had turned into begruding acceptance. The only notable difference was that the F ë anorian populace went about their business with a new found self-confidence. Something Fingon was shamed to admit they had been bullied into forgetting ever having. 

The ache in his chest, made it difficult for Fingon to ride with the speed and the manner of a royal messenger. Maedhros words had been cutting and while not intended for Fingon himself, they still stung. Once again he was reminded that he was counted as outsider among the F ë anorians despite the friendship between them.

No one stopped him when he rode back to Tirion. 

 

* 

 

Uneasy silence filled the house after Maedhros had stepped back into it. Hurry gnawed on him and the urge to het the horses was difficult to surpress. Yet Maedhros wondered at the wisdom of staying much longer in this small settlement. At first he enjoyed the anonymity, but the days of being nameless had just ended. Fingon had found him and so would others. Obviously the days of leaving this place approached. 

Here he could hardly count on the support of his family. 

“You have told me not to apologize,” a voice greeted him from the half shadows after Maedhros had sunken down on a bench near the door. “But I would like to express my regret over the course your friendship with Lord Findekáno has taken.”

“Usually he knows better than to take politics too personal,” Maedhros answered. 

And tried to convince himself at the same time that Fingon would be able to deal with being on the other of the argument. It was not the first time their friendship got caught between their families. Maedhros buried both hands in his long hair. Was different this time around Reconnecting with Fingon had been harder than Maedhros thought it would be. Too much had happened between Fingon's death and his own. There was not much left of the person his cousin had once loved enough to rescue him from the Thangorodrim and Maedhros felt a little guilty. 

But when Maeglin stepped out of his shadows careful to leave their protection, Maedhros felt his anger surge once again. It took one look at the hunched shoulders, the fearful curl of Maeglin's fingers into the wood or the wary gaze over his shoulder to remind himself that there were things more important than hurt feelings over the fact that Maedhros survived the death of his lover. 

Fingon would hopefully understand one day. If he let him explain why Maedhros had not lost his ability to function after his friend and his cousin fell in battle. 

“Come here,” Maedhros said and grasped Maeglin's hand as soon as the other elf was near enough to pull him into a possessive embrace. 

It had been a while since Maedhros allowed himself to be this affectionate with other people. His brothers were so close to his mind that touch was rarely needed and he had invited very few people into his bed over the centuries. The life in Beleriand had trained him out of this habit. 

But for Maeglin he trie d to change them, because he wanted him to know that touching others should come naturally. So Maedhros never hesitate d , never dare d to. Especially since Maeglin  did not flinch in memory of pain, but in belief he  was unworthy of being cared for.  Even for a kinslayer like him,  this concept is unthinkable. Even in the dark insane hours he always had a brother he could go to. Arms who would welcome him, even if their hands were red with blood. As stained as their repuation had been for each his brothers it sufficed to know they would get the care and attention if they only asked for it. 

Of course it could be difficult  at time  to love someone like Curufin when it was so much easier to despise him, but Maedhros shuddered to think that Maeglin never had the support only unconditional love could give.  Another lesson Beleriand had taught him. Not every parent was like F ëanor and his father had more of an expection rather than the rule. 

Finally Maedhros felt Maeglin relax beneath his hands. 

“None of this is your fault,” the Fëanorian insisted. “Do not take it upon your shoulders if Highking Arafinwe acts on nothing but rumors alone.”

Maeglin swallowed the  _I know_ , since Maedhros had told him not to lie. Especially not to himself. 

“I still feel responsible,” he says instead and Maedhros angry features soften. “King Arafinwe isn't wrong. He wishes for an explanation and he wants to hear it from me.”

“Claiming responsibility makes you a good person,” Maedhros said and hoped Maeglin would believe him. “Yet right now would everyone would see your response to the King's summon as an admission of guilt.” 

“As it should be. I brought tore down Gondolin,” Maeglin whispered while staring at his hands. “I'm a traitor. I need to be punished.” 

Maedhros growled in response and covered the cursed hands with his own. The misery plaguing Maeglin's soul was simmering directly beneath the surface of his mind. While Maeglin had been able to hide from most, Maedhros had grown up with seven brothers. He knew the signs and this particular kind of guilt had been an intimate companion for a very long time. 

“You were tortured,” Maedhros buried his fingers in Maeglin's black hair until they foreheads touched. “Morgoth had you on the rack for weeks. You did everything so the pain would end and let me tell you I'm the last person, who would condemn you for it.” 

“You didn't,” he heard the desperate plea and the saw how anguish darkened Maeglin's eyes. “You survived. You betrayed no one. You did not betray your family to Morgoth.” 

“Who says I didn't?” Maedhros spoke so quietly he first thought he had not been heard, but a moment later Lómion stopped dead and looked at him directly into his soul. 

“You what?” he asked after he had see the truth in Maedhros mind. “But you defied him. Everyone knows that.”

Shaking his head, Maedhros answered, “Truth is I knew too little to be of use for Morgoth. After I was taken my brothers prepared accordingly. Father always had competitors who wished to steal his secrets. After the first attack from Orcs with intel Morgoth could've learned only from me, my brothers knew they had been compromised.”

Taking a deep breath, Maedhros added, “Why do you think they hesitated in rescuing me? They all could've done what Fingon did in the end, but they had no possibility to do so as long as they had to fear that Morgoth still got information from me.” 

Maeglin sat in silence, clearly shocked. His legs tangled with Maedhros' and if he had not been able to feel the steady heartbeat under his hands, he would've named the F ë anorian a liar. Yet the was no falsehood in his words. Tears prickled from Maeglin's eyes. The knowledge of no longer being alone with his sin, lifted a weight from his shoulders. 

“But you brothers, how could they accept you after … when your father named Morgoth the great enemy?” 

The thought was mind boggling. The Sons of F ë anor forgave their brother after he betrayed them. That they kept it a secret from everyone and welcomed Maedhros back. That they would've made him Highking, had not the eldest Son of  Fëanor chosen to mend bridges with Fingolfin. 

Maedhros hummed in response. 

“My brothers can surprise people on occasion. Despite all everything they have done, they are loyal to fault. It was a hard journey for me until I realized they had truly forgiven me. That they never really blamed me in the first place.”

With satisfaction Maedhros noticed how Maeglin shifted closer to him, leaning against his chest until some of the tension seeped out of him. Even his own heart felt much lighter. Sharing the story had done him some good. One less secret that bound the Sons of Fëanor to the sins of their past. 

_I begin to see why Lord Námo left Maeglin in my care_ , Maedhros realized.  _He will never be happy in Tirion, Turgon based to much of Gondolin on it._

His family on the other hand still lived on horseback most time of the year. His brothers had their own scars and sins to carry. Maeglin would fit well among them. Hell, from what he had seen how Maeglin treated most people when he wasn't confessing his nightmares to Maedhros there was even the chance he would get along splendidly with Curufin. 

“Have no fear. They will accept you as well,” Maedhros predicted. 

A snort was the answer. 

“Oh, never think it will go down smoothly,” the Fëanor's eldest laughed. “There will screaming matches, brawls I have to break up and a lot of broken funiture. But none of my brother's will laugh at your fears or your nightmares. Nor will they expect an upstanding citizen or a hero taken straight out of a song.”

“I've longed to meet them for a very long time,” Maeglin admitted with a thick voice. 

Maedhros noticed with pleasure how Maeglin looked at him, straight into the eye and with a fire in his eyes. Not with hope yet, but with determination, which would be enough for now. Maeglin was ready to proof himself and this time he would live among people who could read life stories from scars and could spare a soul the painful challenge of using words to describe torment. For outsiders no amount of describtion would ever be enough to understand and for those who knew no words were necessary. 

Deep down Maedhros wondered for a moment if it had been part of the Doom as well that Aredhel returned to Gondolin. What course the future would have taken, had she stayed in Himland? They would never know. Maeglin at least would certainly abstain from living in fancy cities in the future. 

Living the wildness would call for some adjustments, but Maedhros knew best that h arder lives did not always make unhappier people.

“Maedhros,” Maeglin called for him and Fëanor's son rejoiced in the sharpness of his voice. 

Instead of answering Maedhros with words hauled Maeglin closer, kissing him hard and fiercely. Long he had missed the taste and shied away from touch, but neither of them could stop after their lips had met. When they finally parted there was blood on their lips and with a satisfied smile, Maedhros licked his lips clean. 

Swallowing the blood of this elf seemed right and it felt like a promise. Like an oath. 

“Loyality is the creed of my family,” Maedhros announced with dark timber in his voice and imagined how it would be if the tool Maeglin into his bed. 

“Show my family that you would stain your blade with blood in their defence. Show my brothers, you would go into exile rather than live a life in goldon glory. Show my father, you love us no matter what we do or how deep we have waded in blood.”

Maedhros stole another kiss before he said, “Do this and we do the same for you.” 

It was a surprise even for him, how badly he wished for Maeglin to be accepted by his family. 

Among his fathers followers there was rarely a need to recite their understanding of loyality, but Maeglin was different case. The desire was difficult to explain amd Maedhros wished to sink his claws into Maeglin's heart and never let him leave again. 

Perhaps it was the knowledge Maeglin had seen Angband from the inside. Had suffered under Morgoth personally, just like him. 

_Lómion belongs to us_ , he thought.  _Despite his heritage, he carries the same fire in his heart. A century among us and he carries F_ _ëanorian steel._

Never Maedhros had been so sure of something. Not even Fëanor would find a reason to object. As soon as he witnessed Maeglin's skills in the forge, his father would  make him his apprentice. Celebrimbor would gain a friend, Curufin someone to banter with … the possibilities were endless  and for the first in a long time Maedhros was certain it would be a success. 

_I wonder if Ardhel named him Lómion for a reason_ , Maedhros wondered.  _Neither light nor darkness._ _So m_ _uch like us. We wandered in the twilight as long as he did._

The next words verified how right Maedhros had been with his assessment. 

“Perhaps I should offer your father a binding oath that I would never claim the Silmarilli as my own, should I ever come into possession of one,” Maeglin mumbled under his breath. “Just to avoid any misunderstandings.” 

A groan escaped Maeglin, when Maedhros pressed him onto his back. Hovering above him, he let his gaze wander and Maedhros felt long lost sensations return. How could he not love someone who demonstrated more respect for the House of F ë anor and its history than all Kings in Valinor. 

“My father would appreciate it. My brothers even more.” Maedhros answered and his voice trembled slightly. Pressing their bodies together, Maedhros shought more contact with the rare individual who acknowledged the claim this family had on the Silmaril. “You have no idea, Maeglin. No idea how much this would mean to us. To me.”

Now it was Aredhel's son offering comfort. Maeglin cared little for the weight upon him, no matter how much Maedhros huge frame threatened to crush him. He had learned to bear far greater weight. 

Caressing Maedhros neck with his fingers, he explained, “I had very little talent for jewels to begin with and I've experience with  others stealing your work.”

Maedhros forced himself to look, no matter how much he enjoyed it to bury his face in Maeglin's chest. 

Instead of asking, he just raised an eyebrow. 

“ Every sword and every piece of armor in Gondolin was made by me,” said Maeglin and thought back. “Some of them survived through the ages and yet no one mentions me despite the fact Mithrandir slayed a Balrog with it and the Halflings defended their lifes with it during the Ring War.” 

With a shaken breath, Maedhros let his hands slipp under Maeglin's shirt. Warm skin welcomed him. 

“They thought us to dangerous to run free for a very long time. They thought it safer not to acknowledge us or our deeds,” Maedhros whispered and kissed Maeglin's belly. “But you cannot make peace by erasing the truth.”

Part of him felt scared how much he desired Maeglin. Even his body responded, willingly seek more warmth and from a person Maedhros barely knew. He still wanted to have him under him, writhering and mad with lust. 

_ He should have been  _ _ cared for _ _ ,  _ Maedhros thought.  _ How come that one has seen Maeglin's worth?  _ _ Why did Idril judge his worth as too ugly and too violent to be reciprocated?  _

Of course neither of they had been noble hero's in their lives. Instead they progressed to monster and they were still very much capable of hostile intent. 

Ragged breath escaped Maedhros mouth and he fought the desire to take Maeglin right here on the floor. From the looks of it Maeglin wouldn't protest, but he would question himself later. No, Maedhros had to wait until Lómion had gained more confidence. 

Despite that Maedhros there was another reason why  he wished to wait. 

“I want to take you home with me,” Maedhros said. “ Let me show you the freedom you desire.” 

Maeglin did not answer. He just smiled. 

 


End file.
